


Change of Heart

by satanic_koala



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, bad day at work, fucking BLUs make life hard, i had a lot of fun writing this, oh well, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_koala/pseuds/satanic_koala
Summary: The RED team suffer a massive losing streak and peg Medic as the one responsible. Tired and broken in more ways than one, he fumes in the infirmary while preparing to treat everyone's wounds. He expects more ridicule and frustration when his patients enter— but a pleasant surprise presents itself instead.





	Change of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A re-upload of my Secret Santa gift for @karuuhnia. Happy holidays! :D  
> Prompt: other mercs taking care of Medic after a long, hard day.

It was understandable that they couldn’t win every battle. It was understandable that nothing ever went as planned. It was understandable that his teammates weren’t always his best friends. But this?

They’d lost _every single round_ today. Every last one. Now they turned around and pinned the loss on him. Hell, Medic hadn’t even been alive for half of it, and they still blamed him.

The fact that he’d broken his leg trying to dodge the BLU Sniper did not help matters. Now he was being half dragged, half carried back to the base by Heavy and Demoman. He had to make a colossal effort not to look at the lump in his boot where the bone protruded at a rather unsettling angle.

He glanced at Engineer; the Medigun was in pieces. Another thing he’d have to fix, along with everyone else’s wounds. Oh yes, that. Let’s see— Soldier got his hand cut off (again), Sniper had a knife in his abdomen from the enemy Spy (again), Scout sounded like he had broken ribs, Heavy had more bullet wounds than fingers, Spy had been immolated (again), and Pyro had escaped it all with nothing but a paper cut. How they’d managed to do _that_ , on a battlefield with no paper to speak of, he would never know. (Nor was he certain he wanted to.)

“Coo.”

Medic lifted his head to find Archimedes alighting on his shoulder. He thought he could hear his other doves, as well. Shit: they’d gotten out again. He could only imagine what his lab would look like when he got there— covered in feathers, everything sticky with bird droppings, and medical supplies strewn everywhere. Something else to add to the ever growing list of things he needed to do.

Great. Absolutely _fantastic_. This day just couldn’t get better.

“C’mon! Hurry up, doc! I’m dyin’ here!”

“Oh, would ye shut up?” Demo hissed through gritted teeth, turning to glare at Scout with his one eye. “I think we’ve all had enough o’ yer moaning fer a hundred lifetimes!”

Medic shut his eyes, trying to ignore the escalating argument. His head hurt. The shock was wearing off now, and he could feel it. His leg throbbed with a sharp pain. He endeavored to hide the fact that he winced with each step forward, but to no avail.

He was led into the infirmary and plopped on the examination table under the hulking surgical Medigun. Just as anticipated, his doves were wreaking havoc on the room. Papers covered every surface, there was poo everywhere, and just about every fragile object in the vicinity had been smashed. Archimedes alighted on the floor next to the refrigerator. Good God, somehow they’d managed to get the thing open. Now the blood-spattered bird was nibbling at the heart of a Loch Ness hamster— one he’d been saving for his next experiment.

Forget it. He didn’t have time to deal with that. He reached up to fiddle with the controls, but Engineer beat him to it, flicking the power switch with stern nonchalance. Medic’s broken leg tingled in the familiar manner customary of being healed by the pulsing red beam. He could feel the bone knitting itself back together and slipping into its proper place once more. His eyes avoided his boot, though to watch the bone slide away from his skin would certainly have been satisfying. The gun wasn’t doing much for his head, but there was aspirin in the supply cabinet for that: yet another item on the list.

Engineer didn’t notice that Medic was chewing his lip, peering the Medigun’s remains in his hands.

“I’ll take care of it, Doc,” he said, giving a half smile.

“No, it’s fine.” Medic waved his hand in the direction of the sink. “Just— set it on the counter over there, please.”

Engineer ignored his halfhearted gesture. “I can fix it up jus—“

“I know, I know.” Medic ran his gloved hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. “Let me do it.”

His leg now mostly healed, he slid down from the table gingerly. He limped slightly as he took the Medigun from his friend’s hands and carelessly slung the pieces onto the counter. Having done this so many times before, he didn’t even need to glance at the blueprints for his creation. He arranged the pieces so they were roughly in their respective places and opened the cupboard level with his eyes. A waning roll of black electrical tape came down in his hand, and he slammed the door shut. Taking the two pieces of the Medigun’s barrel into his hands, he aligned them and began to wind the tape around the fissure between them. Half of its length was already swathed in the stuff from previous incidents. He tore off a strip with his teeth, disregarding the pain that came with it; he was getting too old for this shit.

He crammed the barrel into place and arranged the many pieces of the handle next to it. The tape roll waned further as he haphazardly repaired the stupid thing. The fact that he’d been the one to actually break it made the chore all the more vexing. The mindless and wanton BLU Scout had tripped him, and Medic and his Medigun had both gone flying. Much to his misfortune, it had ended up cushioning his fall and splintering into pieces upon impact.

“Hey, let me take care of it,” said Engineer, reaching out to put his hand on Medic’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Medic snapped back.

He turned sharply, avoiding the orange gloved hand. He shrugged off the heavy pack off his back and slammed it on the counter. The hose had been ripped apart: all courtesy of that damn Scout. He fiddled anxiously with the mess for a minute or so. The tape would not adhere to it properly; it would have to be stitched up by hand. Flinging it aside, he swore profusely under his breath and reached for the base of the Medigun. It had detached from all of the other parts, but somehow, it had survived being crushed under his weight. His fingers fumbled on the inner rim, searching for the bolts that normally held the barrel in place. Having found nothing, he stupidly stuck his face in the thing and carried on. Engineer winced audibly. Medic swore again, this time more clearly: all the parts were missing. He tore off more tape and set about trying to reattach the barrel to the gun’s body.

“Listen doc, you and I both know that ain’t gonna hold—” Engineer began.

“Do you _think_ I care?” Medic cut him off, not even bothering to turn and scowl at him.

“You’re sure I can’t do anything?”

“Just— just go…”

“Please, I’m just tryin’ to help. I’ve got plenty of PHDs—”

“Shut up!”

Medic whirled around, accidentally sending the Medigun clattering to the floor. His headache had worsened into a steady pounding that made him think he could see spots pulsing in the center of his vision. His leg, though intact, still hadn’t received the full treatment it needed. His glasses were cracked and his patience lost.

He’d been on the brink of smacking Engineer upside the head for pestering him, but now he came to his senses. He inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and sighed in exasperation. A lump swelled in his throat. No, he wasn’t going to cry like an infant in front of his comrade. That would just make it worse.

Engineer could only stare; he hadn’t been expecting such an outburst. He clenched his jaw, unsure of how to respond.

Medic turned and leaned against the counter. He removed his glasses and with his free hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“Ah, don’t sweat it,” said Engineer. “You’ve had yourself a rough day. Go and siddown, now. Give yourself a break while I fix that.”

Medic just nodded, swallowing hard. He almost slipped on his glasses again before remembering the spiderweb of cracks in the lenses. They were abandoned on the countertop as he crossed the room to sit on one of the cots against the wall.

“Coo,” said Archimedes, having flown over to him and alighted on his shoulder.

“Not now,” said Medic with a soft smile before remembering that he was not alone in the room. Hopefully Engineer hadn’t heard him. _Hopefully_.

He reached for the bird and stroked its feathers gently and was rewarded with a stream of rolling coos. Engineer disappeared into the hall, presumably heading for his workshop. Medic was about to collapse against the wall and shut his eyes for a moment (not sleep, mind you), but the infirmary doors slammed open. Doves scattered into the air, and he jumped. He readjusted himself as Heavy entered the room with a steaming mug of what smelled like tea. Medic noted that all the bullet holes and blood had vanished, though he’d not treated any of the team after the battle.

“Dispenser,” Heavy explained. He strode over to Medic with no particular expression on his face. “Do not worry about us.”

The smile fell his face at the reminder of the list of things he still had to do. “I still haven’t done triage yet. Could you bring them in for me?”

“Engineer is taking care of them. You should rest now, doctor.”

The mug was still steaming in Heavy’s hand. Medic watched it, waiting for him to take a sip. Instead, Heavy leant down and offered it to him. He took it tentatively; this was not a normal occurrence for anyone on his team. Was something wrong?

“It’s not poisoned, I promise,” Heavy teased.

Medic swatted him lightly on the arm, now grinning. “You know I can’t risk missing a single spy-check, as I’ve learnt many times today.” They both laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles.

He raised his mug to take a swig and nearly spilt the still-hot tea all over himself when the doors opened again. The doves once more shot into the air, cooing indignantly. When the stray feathers had drifted to the floor, Pyro and Sniper were standing there. Pyro almost dropped the bundle in their arms as they ran up to say hello to the birds, which startled slightly at their unanticipated approach. Sniper simply stood there, surveying the damage.

“Bloody hell, they’ve been busy, haven’t they?” He murmured. He plodded up to the surgical Medigun and raised his hand toward the doves. “Come here, you’ve had your fun. Time to go back, now.”

Medic watched with raised brows as Sniper tucked his birds into the dovecote in his office one by one. None of them made a fuss, perched on Sniper’s hands and cooing pleasantly at him. Pyro seemed disappointed to watch them go, but then they remembered why they’d come here in the first place. They trotted over to Medic and threw the blanket over his shoulders. Why a blanket would be necessary, he didn’t know, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he said, a little embarrassed with all the attention. Muffled words spilled from the filter of Pyro’s gas mask, then they darted off to feed the doves.

“Make sure you check the lock on that, mate!” Sniper called. He bent to the floor to sweep up the feathers scattered across the tiles. He muttered to himself— something about birds always pooing in the most inconvenient places.

Scout wandered into the room with his mouth in a flat line and his hands in his pockets. “Anythin’ I can do, doc?”

“Erm… Just some aspirin?” Medic quietly hoped that none of his comrades had noticed his voice waver awkwardly. He was still reeling from the massive change in attitude around him.

“Sure thing.”

Normally, Scout would be the loudest thing in the room, but this was one of the few times that he simply said nothing: just walked to the supply cabinet and took the bottle. He tossed it from hand to hand as he strode over to Medic. He unscrewed the cap in a single deft twist, tipped a couple caplets into his hand, and held it out to him.

It almost felt deliberate. It most certainly felt bizarre. Medic thanked him, and the pills slid down his throat without another word.

“Sorry about yellin’ at you earlier.”

“Who do you think you are,” said Medic, smirking across the room, “and what have you done with Scout?”

Scout opened his mouth to protest, but he caught the smirk on Medic’s face, and the whole room snickered. Archimedes seemed to chortle, too.

“What are the others up to?” said Heavy.

“Soldier and Demo are makin’ cookies.” Scout shrugged. “Spy’s probably doin’ spy stuff: backstabbing, sneakin’ around—” Before he could finish, Pyro was back. They scampered to the doors and peered into the hall. A joyous whoop rattled the hinges.

“May I present you with the most dee-licious cookies you maggots have ever tasted in your entire lives?!”

The infirmary doors slammed open with a clamor. Soldier and Demoman both entered wearing aprons. Soldier’s was rather frilly and lacy, and Demo’s was covered in a substance that could have been chocolate or ash. They were each carrying a tray of… rather strange cookies. Medic squinted at them: he couldn’t even tell what kind they were even supposed to be. Some of them looked a little burnt, but no one seemed to care: there were cookies! The others dashed over, pushing each other out of the way to get at the trays. For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of chewing and cookies crunching at the edges.

“I can’t _believe_ you call that food,” Spy grumbled. He trudged into the infirmary with a third tray, scowling. His comrades began to snicker when they noticed he was wearing an apron of his own— pink with white polka dots and a heart smack dab in the middle.

“Nice, uh.. Nice apron you got there?” said Scout, trying to hold back the laughter.

“Do not _ever_ speak of this again.”

The mercenaries laughed, their painful loss forgotten by mirth and cookies that tasted a bit like gunpowder.


End file.
